Prayer draws us near to our own souls. (Herman Melville)

Last time, I made the point that (at their best) most religions promote a state of mind that dethrones ego. This elevated condition goes by many names: Christ-consciousness, selfless awareness, enlightenment, etc. Anyone following this blog knows that I have been blessed with this frame of mind off and on since mid-January.

When I am fully installed in it, my petty concerns melt away, and my heart feels full and grateful. I don’t worry about my future, or fret about my past. Criticism goes silent. In its place comes a nonverbal belief that life is acceptable in every way. Not that I’m unaware of the need for improvement; in particular, working toward greater selflessness becomes more important than ever. But life seems calmer, easier, and more beautiful.

When I give up all resistance, and settle into this accepting and loving mode, the world feels sacred. It is easy for this awesome feeling of peace to take on a religious character. The first time I experienced it, in 2000, I felt embraced by God. At one point, Jesus spoke to me, directly and in person. It was a profound religious moment that led me to convert to Catholicism.

In the years that followed, I read a lot about spiritual experiences. In particular, I educated myself about the neurological underpinnings of transcendent consciousness. I found out that there are regions in the brain (e.g., the temporal lobes) that seem to be activated during profound states. Others (e.g., the left parietal lobe) may become quiet. Learning these facts led to a series of changes in my outlook. At first, I concluded that these brain structures must be the portals through which God operates. Later, doubt crept in, and I started wondering if the experiences were simply seizure-equivalents; perhaps ‘it was all in my head’. Over time, regardless of what I believed, I settled back into egocentrism, more depressed than ever.

This year, after I again encountered Peace of Mind, I realized it doesn’t much matter whether it is a purely biological condition versus something of divine origin. These are the important points: 1) this state of mind has been experienced by many people; 2) it does not depend on any particular belief system; 3) it erases my depression whenever it is active; and 4) it makes me want to be a better person.

In Quantum Change: When Epiphanies and Sudden Insights Transform Ordinary Lives, William Miller and Janet C’de Baca describe many swift transitions from common ego-bound human neurosis, into exactly the state of grace I’m describing. The transformations felt like gifts (often in the midst of crisis) rather than earned rewards. The authors maintain neutrality about the origin of these changes, but they emphasize that many lives were permanently improved.

In my case, the improvement has not been exactly permanent; my feelings of transcendence wax and wane. A few days ago I suffered food poisoning, and selfless consciousness evaporated. Within hours I felt as miserable and depressed as ever. I’ve been working to realign myself ever since. At first I tried meditating, walking in nature, exercising, reading and writing. Nothing seemed to help.

Then I did something new: I prayed. Not to God, because my atheist upbringing makes belief in God challenging for me. I needed to pray to something that I knew existed. So I prayed to that deeper part of my mind that is so much wiser than me. I know, from firsthand experience, that something within me understands the world in a holistic way that erases anxiety and depression, so I prayed to that part of myself, and asked it to rise again. I begged my deeper ‘Spirit’ to come to the surface and take over. My ‘Will’ admitted that it was making a hash of things. It surrendered.

Praying worked: before long I felt the warmth again. I watched the anxieties fall away, the depression lighten, the smile and the love return. I found that surrendering to this deeper part of myself, through the mechanism of verbal prayer, brought me back to my center.

There are those who will believe that God must have played a part here. Why rule that out? Perhaps God is open-minded enough to accept my ego’s surrender, even if the surrender was not specifically directed toward God.

But it is also possible that this act of prayer merely allowed my deeper nature to step into the driver’s seat. My ego admitted it needed to hand off the wheel, and that allowed my heart to start directing things again.

Whatever the mechanism, the transformation was effected, and I feel more contented, more accepting, and more motivated to be a better person. Isn’t that all that matters? And if orthodox religions can bring others to this place of comfort and growth, then shouldn’t we respect them for it?

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Those visitors who expressed reservations about the finality of my spiritual enlightenment had just cause for concern. For two weeks after my supposed awakening, a newfound clarity made life easy and rewarding. Thoughts of helping seemed natural, and I enjoyed abundant energy for my mission of guiding others away from depression. But then reality intruded on my peace. My wife and I live adjacent to San Francisco Bay, very close to sea level. As rainy weather continued for weeks, I began to hate the damp cold. When the sun wasn’t obscured by rain clouds, it shone only dimly through a low shroud of mist, and the shadowy light began to get me down. Unwisely, I discontinued one of my medications after months of slow tapering. Prompted by someone else’s comment, which had little to do with my situation, I became obsessed with futile thoughts of reentering medicine. And then there was the lukewarm (at best) reception of my new ideas about how to alleviate depression; no one in either my day-to-day life or on the internet seemed particularly interested. It turned out to be more than my fragile psyche could bear.

The low feelings were tolerable for about a week. During that time my thinking remained balanced, and I patiently waited for the cycle to play itself out. I endeavored to meditate consistently and stay centered. But finally the downward pressure on my spirits overcame me. Yesterday it took all my strength just to drag myself to the gym for thirty minutes. As used to be routine, I found myself wondering, “what’s the point?” Having sunk to this level frustrated me all the more because I know better. What happened to my insights into the true nature of human life? Where went the new alignment of my priorities? Meditating on the unity and rightness of the cosmos brought only temporary wisdom and peace. By yesterday the depression had progressed into a suicidal realm. I simply could not let go of obsessions about my flawed personality, my lack of productivity, my chronic isolation, and my unpromising future. Self. Self. Self.

It would be nice to say everything feels fine today. I would love to announce that selflessness has returned with the same forceful clarity as before; certainly, I am closer that goal. But it’s an uphill battle. It makes me revisit my old conviction that a chemical imbalance contributes to my unhappiness. Perhaps there are depressed corners in my brain that ego suppression won’t always reach. I resist that conclusion for now, and continue to work on regaining that thrilling and heartfelt understanding of my true nature. I hope to reconnect with my recent, stirring awareness of the transience of my problems, and the importance of altruism. If intention is enough, I will get better. Things do seem a little lighter today.

Of course, today the sun also shines outside my window, and I enjoy a nice view of water, wetlands, and little Mt. Burdell in the distance. That alone helps alleviate the heaviness. (The picture heading this post was taken through my window just now, in late afternoon light.)

It’s a good sign that I’m here writing. For several days there seemed to be little point. Even with my posts occasionally appearing at PsychCentral, there has been scant evidence to suggest that my message is catching on. For several days before today, every session at the computer ended with the thought, “why bother?” I felt overwhelmed by the fact that blogs are inefficient at attracting readers, and the necessity of delivering my message on Facebook instead. That site doesn’t appeal to me, and the idea of aggressively finding ‘friends’ is unpleasant, to say the least. I’ve toyed with abandoning writing on the internet altogether.

But now I’m back. It helps to let go of all attachment to ‘carrying a message’. Soon after my transcendent experiences, it seemed absolutely vital for me to spread the word that depression can be lightened by escaping ego dominance. Today, I can accept that my role may simply be to enjoy the fruits of that truth. I am more able to accept that I may lack the personality, skills and energy needed to educate others. In fact, right now it feels like I’m under a spiritual mandate to experience exactly these limitations, without resistance. It is an important, though painful lesson.

It comes with an interesting twist. I see more than the mere acceptance of failure; I understand the need to keep trying in spite of it.

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In one of those strange and common coincidences, after completing the last post about altruism I came across someone else’s elegant discussion of the exact same issue. The late Carl Sagan and his wife, Ann Druyan, published Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors in 1993. They discuss altruism early on, and their take on the relevant principles of behavioral ecology is (not surprisingly) better informed than mine. To account for the widespread occurrence of apparent altruism, they invoke a diffusion of the instincts that support kin selection. In brief, they suggest that if there is a strong likelihood that neighbors share genes, then a blanket policy of helping out will tend to spread. Anyone interested would do well to read the book. It gives a nice history of the biology of the human race, and offers insightful observations about the possible sources of many Homo sapien characteristics.

But the roots of altruism are not as important as its effects. Regardless of why animals and people sometimes help one another, we can take comfort that the behavior occurs. If everyone acted with relentless selfishness, we would stand little chance of surviving the many crises we face as a species. Even though we are spoon fed a consumerist ethic that glorifies self-gratification, there are many people who devote themselves to the common good.

Having people ‘out there’ who like to help is a delightful thing. Even better is having an inner desire to help others. The last essay alluded to the fact that altruistic behavior makes people feel good. Every time we set selfish interests aside, and devote our energies to larger concerns, we grow wiser and more mature. The minute we quit focusing on our personal and constricting worries and problems, and start seeing the difficulties faced by others, we find that life is easier to bear. One sad fact about depression is that it encourages us to retract into ourselves and expend energy in fruitless battles against psychic demons. Unfortunately, dark moods and pessimistic attitudes get stronger the more we attend to them. It is far more healing to look outside and help others than it is to gaze inward in hopes of defeating our many internal enemies.

By adopting an altruistic attitude we gain by: 1) taking attention away from negative obsessions; 2) seeing our problems from a broader perspective; and 3) developing connections with other people. Let’s consider these in turn.

1) No one has ever cured an obsession by obsessing about it. The best way to escape negative cycles of thought and mood is to shift attention away from them. Although thinking differently about a tough situation can reduce pessimism, it is often better to not think about it at all. When we contemplate a potential loss, we should be careful not to exaggerate its likelihood, or overestimate its negative impact, or ignore our sources of support. But unless there is concrete action we can take right now, we will find the greatest relief by diverting our thoughts toward something else. And one of the most healing things to think about is how we can help another person.

2) As soon as we search for ways to help others, we awaken to the fact that suffering is widespread. Whatever our problems and fears, there are people who have greater difficulties and more to worry about. Seeing this, we recognize that much of the world shares our anxiety. We begin to feel gratitude for what is good in our lives, rather than anger and terror about what is—or might become—bad.

3) We also start to meet people who face similar problems. We find that by offering them support, we receive a measure of comfort in return. We enjoy richer connections with our fellow travelers on this lovely planet. The torment of isolation gives way to the treasure of community.

Aside from these concrete benefits, opening our arms to help others is a good way to escape being dominated and tormented by the egocentric parts of our minds.

Our biggest problem is not that we live in a difficult world. Our suffering does not come from outside. Our biggest challenge is overcoming the verbal and logical mind’s conviction that it is the most important object in the universe. Not only does the ego disregard the suffering of other people, it denies the value—and often the very existence—of older and wiser parts of the human brain. It insists on satisfying its endless hungers before it permits feelings of contentment. Since those appetites are rarely sated for more than a few moments at a time, the ego keeps us on an endless treadmill of striving and self-aggrandizement. The best gift of altruism is that it begins to free us from the clutches of this internal and miserable tyrant.

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